


indecent

by goeasyvicar



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: (well ish), Established Relationship, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, i really am just a very boring person, it's called introspective sex look it up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goeasyvicar/pseuds/goeasyvicar
Summary: How bad can leaving a hairpin in your opponent's room really be?
Relationships: Vasily Borgov/Beth Harmon
Comments: 15
Kudos: 52





	indecent

**Author's Note:**

> uh oh lads. uh oh. i genuinely don't have an excuse for this. it's been a month and a half and i still haven't stopped screaming about these two, so this was bound to happen at some point.  
> big thanks to disagio for encouraging me to be braver in writing! i doubt you haven't read her stories yet but take this as your reminder to read them again because they are wonderful.   
> obligatory warnings:  
> \- something something english is not my first language something something lots of unnecessary commas  
> \- can you tell i've never written smut before? can you? i bet you can't  
> \- although in my own goblin brain this is a brief continuation of 'something to earn', there aren't any particularly significant details connecting the two apart from beth being the world champion, so you don't have to read that other one

Borgov's return to the chess scene after his spectacular overthrow at the World Championship in Reykjavik and subsequent immigration to France is unexpected to just about everyone at the IMB tournament but most of all to Beth Harmon.

She's exceptionally busy these days - and, despite the unceasing pressure of wearing the crown, she likes it - so when she finds out that he's coming to Amsterdam as well, it's too late to write a follow-up on her latest letter and give him a proper dressing-down. Unable to see each other for a myriad of reasons, the most prominent being political, they exchange letters as frequently as her new schedule allows. She tells him of her numerous travels, her undying need to prove herself ushering her ever forward even now that the title of World Champion rests firmly on her shoulders, and he teaches her how to live with it. When he, Galina and their boy finally settle in a place much quieter than Moscow, he tells her of the views out of the windows in his new house and she feels heartbroken that she can't visit just yet. She tells him of the time she attended Jolene's wedding - modest, with the majority of her budget being directed towards starting a firm with her associates. He tells her about his and Galina's amicable divorce - not a substantial change, with them only being separated on paper but not in spirit. It doesn't take her by surprise as she's now aware of Mrs Borgov's feelings towards women. They rarely talk about _their own_ feelings, mostly in humble straightforward confessions as they both lack sentimentality, but he makes sure to remind her from time to time that his convictions are as steady as they were when they last saw each other almost a year ago. It seems sometimes that she forgets to do the same but he doesn't mind, knowing who and how old she is. She doesn't forget, instead thinking herself incompetent when it comes to declaring love. She also gets tired of not being able to see him.

When they spot each other in Hilton Hotel, in one of the halls where the drawing of lots is set to be held, Beth feels a trail of shivers rapidly make its way down her spine and she wants to run up to him, fling herself onto him and embrace him as tight as she possibly can but only allows herself to gracefully walk up to him and the other Soviet grandmaster. It takes her a second and one of Vasily's a little less reserved smiles to remember that he's not Soviet anymore. Still, all eyes, real and mechanical alike, are on them as they genteelly shake hands and greet one another. She can almost hear the faint crackling of frazil as time freezes around them.

"Miss Harmon." Borgov nods, a barely discernible echo of tenderness illuminating his eyes from the inside in such a way that only she can see it.

"Mr Borgov." Harmon nods as well, a mischievous glint flickering in hers in response.

When the sky turns pink and they're done with the opening ceremony, she's the one to welcome herself into his room and into his arms before he locks the door. Vasily is temporarily dazed but his composure melts away as Beth wraps her arms around his neck and presses her greedy mouth to his. Despite his own grip tightening around her slender frame almost automatically, a small sound of protest escapes his throat but she stops it, desperate to extend the moment. It won't be long before her wardens catch up with her and she has to act on her desires while the opportunity is still within her grasp. Besides, she has a hunch he isn't planning on acting on his until she gives him official permission.

"Beth-"

Beth doesn't answer, only grabs his hand to slide it lower, down the elegant line of her silhouette and to her hip. She wishes she was wearing her favourite dark blue skirt instead of this confining dress, so tricky to hitch up without ruining the seams, formality be damned, but a part of her is quite honestly pleased with the choice aware of how she's going to look in the papers. She knows from the way his breathing changes, burning her lips unsteadily, from the way his fingers curl around her form with forgotten familiarity that Vasily wants his hand to travel further even without her guidance. She leaves it there - he's a big boy, he'll know what to do.

"Liza..."

He breathes against the corner of her mouth as she turns her head slightly to the side for a bit of air. The heat of her body flush with his is blissful and maddening, and he's instantly inebriated. It's easier to follow her now that he's free of the tenacious red beast. She's ever so visceral, reckless, but he can't help but feel somewhat relieved: whatever is the reason for this impetuosity, earnest desire or pure physical distress, she still wants him. The recognition tugs pleasantly on his soul and maybe something else as well. So young, so indescribably beautiful, with the entire world at her feet, and yet she chooses the company of an old man. It seems strange now but he never saw himself as that before he met her.

_"Lizaveta."_

Although his tone is unexpectedly stern, it's the novelty of the address that forcibly drags Beth back to earth. She blinks, her cheeks flushed, the bitter chocolate brown boring into the icy blue with childlike irritation. She knows that other one, the Russian public favoured it during the Moscow Invitational even though she never allowed any one of them to call her that except Vasily, but this is certainly new and somehow feels more serious. This Borgov is new as well - discomposed, dishevelled, though more mentally than physically. There's the same exasperation in his eyes, however, it ruffles him more than it does her and she knows herself to be the cause of it. She briefly entertains the idea of disobeying or even slapping him in the face just to see what he would do - and he won't simply take it, not now, she can feel it - but quickly lets it go, eager to hear what reason might there possibly be for him to turn her down.

"What?" With a belligerent jerk of her head Beth puts a strand of hair roughly back into place, staring him down, ready to scold him no matter what defences he decides to use, but Vasily cups her face with both of his hands and kisses her, quickly but with as much passion as he's capable of in the moment.

"Not now. There are reporters everywhere."

"So what?" she shrugs. "They won't just barge into your room without your permission."

"They won't." His gaze drifting over her face from one feature to another, he traces her jawline with his fingertips before letting go. "But they'll see you walking out of here."

Beth wants to disagree again, wants to ostentatiously lock the door behind her and kiss him until he forgets where they are but the realist in her knows that it would never work with him. She also knows that he has much more experience in being followed, and although she's not completely new to it herself, there might still be details she's not familiar with yet. 

"But you're single now." She tries for the last time, less defiant. The word has a curious shape on her tongue, sharp but exciting at the same time. She would actually love to talk to his ex-wife personally and learn everything about her life that she may be willing to share. "And French. Officially not an enemy of the state anymore." 

"Yes," Vasily nods patiently. "But some of them might not know that. Even if they do, they will find a reason to judge you anyway." 

"Only me?" Beth quirks her brow into a sceptical curve. "You're not exactly a saint yourself, Mr Borgov." 

"I don't care," he says plainly and honestly, and she can't resist the urge to kiss him again - this time more as a consolation prize for the possibility of his new career once again being ruined because of her. 

She slips out the door mere seconds before her handlers turn the corner and check on the World Champion in her room. 

Reporters never go away. There are significantly less of them when the first couple of days of the tournament pass but more than enough to capture the forbidden affair for the masses. Beth feels strangely giddy over the prospect of being caught _red-handed_ , the proverbial butterflies tickling her from the inside, but not enough to throw both of their performances and darken her own name she's worked so hard to build up. Besides, however he might be seeing himself, whatever grotesque state his face morphs into when he looks at himself in the mirror thinking that he's too old for all of this, Vasily is not just a fling for her, not an evanescent crush on her chess trainer who she thinks might secretly be good in bed, not a trophy. She doesn't want him to get into a fight with her State Department agent.

Still, it stings when Borgov repeatedly deflects her advances for the sake of his own opinions on the matter. While she wasn't particularly chaste leading up to their match in Iceland, Beth remains conventionally faithful afterwards but that was a long time ago and she is a young woman with needs and desires that can't all be satisfied without another party being involved. She grows more and more frustrated with each passing day of the tournament, both physically and with the fact that she can't clearly see the reason for such behaviour. She knows it's not insecurity exactly, otherwise he wouldn't reciprocate at all. Maybe it's just how he was brought up, unaffectionate and reserved everywhere but on the chessboard. She can tell he wants her too though. By the way he looks at her while she's chatting with a young Czech grandmaster, his intent, almost envious gaze heating up the side of her face from the inside as she smiles at the man. By the way he grasps at her clothes with silent desperation when she fleetingly kisses him on the way to her room on the same floor as his. By the way he catches his breath when she gently but possessively places her hand on his thigh under the table while they dine with some of the players. Beth finds it amusing to see Vasily so flustered over simple acts of intimacy, in a good-natured way, but is also somewhat pleased with herself for biting back. Suddenly there's a completely different game at the tournament, a competition to determine who is going to break first, and for once in their lives it has nothing to do with chess.

They don't forget about it, however, not for a minute, and when they finally meet at the same table all heads turn in their direction. Harmon, despite playing as Black, never allows Borgov his seeming advantage and is quick to assess the situation from the very beginning. She lures him closer with an ostensibly antipositional move, teases him with a chance to disrupt her kingside pawn structure, but then attacks and stuns him with counterplay. By the time they reach the middlegame, he slowly begins his descent, failing his advances and weakening the position of his king, stumbling significantly on the eighteenth move and emphasising her dominance over the board by move twenty. Moving her pawn to b5, Beth looks up at him with an already triumphant twinkle in her eyes hoping to catch the same frustration that's been bubbling up inside her for several days but sees no such thing. Instead, Vasily's lips twitch in an attempt to suppress a smile. He knows he's doomed and revels in her power.

When the endgame gradually comes about, both kings, both queens and both bishops are still on the board and yet Borgov is still unsuccessful in protecting his ruler. He eyes it slowly, meticulously, considers shifting it to e1 to cut her off and gain some time, but in the last second willingly moves his queen forward, to d4. Harmon narrows her eyes in disbelief but instantly seizes the opportunity and puts her bishop close behind it, having his king in check. To others, it seems like they still sit at the opposite sides of the board but in reality - Beth has Vasily on his knees, lifting his face up with the tip of her sword. The sight is enticing, to both of them. They smile as cameras flash all around them, hoping to catch at least a hint of hostility between them but only finding respect.

They shake hands courtly and Beth rises up from her seat, leaving Vasily at the table seemingly to go over the game once more, but going past him she puts her hand on his shoulder and lets it trail along the sharp line as she struts away. He is surprisingly firm to the touch, though not as much because of his general build but rather because of the tension. There are flashes everywhere again but she doesn't stop and flees into the corridors, biting down on her lower lip to stop herself from demonstrating her satisfaction too evidently.

When they meet in the elevator after the game, alone, Borgov just looks at her inquiringly but doesn't ask. The tiniest of muscles moves under the skin in the corner of his mouth, though he wants to appear stoic. Beth doesn't.

"What?" A delighted smirk plays about her lips as she raises her eyebrows with deceptive innocence. "Don't tell me you don't enjoy it as much as I do."

He stays silent but nods in the direction of the corridor as the elevator stops with a classic ding. Curious, she acquiescently follows him to his room. When they go in, however, she is all but reassured that they are thinking about the same things as he doesn't lock the door. As strangely exciting as the danger of being caught in the act may feel, she knows it not to be the case with Vasily Borgov, ever so vigilant even now, so he probably just wants to talk. Still, a perfectly acceptable way to spend the evening. After all, she's missed seeing him in the flesh.

"You _are_ aware that you shouldn't act like that in public, aren't you?" With his hands in his pockets, Vasily walks up to her. His face doesn't change particularly noticeably, even now that she knows how to read him, but his voice seems lower than usual, signifying her approaching victory.

"And what if I don't?" Beth impishly tilts her head to the side staying confidently in place until he's mere inches away from her. The difference in height isn't striking but she still has to look up with her gigantic eyes. "You're gonna do something about it?"

He wants to. Good God, he wants to do so many things but the time isn't right and neither is the place. Despite the fact that they're both free people outside of chess, they have to follow certain protocols for the sake of her own reputation, if only for a while longer. 

"Not right now, no," he says almost ruefully. "Some journalist wanted to talk to me after our game."

"Going to ask you about your crushing defeat, I imagine?" Her own voice tinged with flirtatious notes, she puts her hands on the lapels of his jacket as if to pull him closer.

"Among other things." He finally allows himself a smile and obediently leans forward but Beth stops him with a decisive pat.

"Oh no, don't waste your time with me." She shakes her head, suddenly straight-faced. "By all means, do get ready for your important interview."

Vasily sighs heavily as she slinks away from his unbegan embrace but doesn't turn just yet, presumably thinking of a way to apologise.

"Beth." When he does turn, she's already gripping the door handle.

"Mind the time, Mr Borgov. The tournament won't last forever."

The door is shut and, only some minutes later, opened again - this time by the Dutch reporter with a handlebar moustache and a notebook at the ready. Vasily welcomes the man into his room with a short polite smile and gestures to the chairs by the window. As they settle in their respective seats, the journalist jumps up, disturbed by a stray hairpin laying on the chair sharp side up. The man himself is equally sharp and rushes to point out how peculiar it is that Miss Harmon's exquisite emerald hairpin, so shiny that it probably ruined some photographs that have been made when they played each other, just happened to be here. Borgov lies, his face as inscrutable as always, and tells him that there is, in fact, nothing peculiar about it as Miss Harmon visited him mere minutes ago for a brief analysis session. The journalist is visibly disappointed by the lack of details and his perfect composure but doesn't mention it and they begin the interview.

In her room, Beth smiles. Check.

It's dark outside, save only for the streetlamps, and Beth is getting ready for bed when a slow but somehow also urgent knock on the door interrupts her in the process of undressing. A part of her hopes that her hurriedly set up trap has worked but she still asks whoever's on the other side to wait a minute as she quickly throws on a colourful silky robe. She stops at the threshold, hanging in the cloud of her own palpable excitement, and takes a deep breath before opening the door.

"Vasily," she greets with a guiltless smile, and although she can already feel the fire starting to spread gradually from the pit of her stomach and throughout her body, she doesn't want to show it straight away. The sight of Borgov outside of his suit isn't entirely foreign to her as she has already seen him like this, in a shirt and trousers, with no tie, at least a couple of times but she still measures him with her eyes. If she is wrong and he really is insecure about his looks, he doesn't show it. A quip dances around on the tip of her tongue but she decides to keep it to herself, half-afraid to spoil the moment, and steps to the side. "Come in."

He walks in leisurely, as if the timing he cares so much about suddenly doesn't matter anymore, and, while she is still holding the handle, closes the door along with the distance between them. Hearing the simple lock mechanism click two times behind her, Beth exhales shakily and intuitively draws back but finds the door closer than she originally anticipated. With her back pressed against it, she looks up and finds Borgov's eyes staring at her with the kind of desire she can't quite define. His gaze travels lower, to her parted lips, and it's as if he touches her without actually touching her.

"That was very clever, Lizaveta." He lets go of the handle and catches the slippery fabric of her robe with his fingers but doesn't move further just yet.

"Don't patronise me." She feels the motion and tightens up involuntarily. It's much easier when she's the instigator but now she doesn't know what to expect. Somehow, he's still hard to read at times, at least outside of chess. She smiles faintly anyway. 

"You must be pleased with yourself." His mouth twitches slightly in return.

"I am."

Vasily's knuckles lightly brush against her thigh but he lingers, unsure if his sudden advances are welcome after their awkward parting earlier today, so Beth shifts closer, indicating her consent. It's adorable, really, how obviously he wants to be dominant and yet is still uncertain, doesn't allow himself to take her immediately, but she knows it's better than any other way. Her skin flares up in a straight line as his hand finally slides between her legs, tantalizingly slowly making its way up.

"You shouldn't be. That was indecent."

She already knits her eyebrows in irritation at his words and his pace when she feels his fingers hit the insubstantially thin layer of peach-coloured lace and her body reacts in a way she doesn't expect. Perhaps it's the waiting and the anticipation and the lack of proper release or maybe he just has a way with her but she's almost instantly wet. She's also stricken with the realisation that she doesn't know what kind of intimacy he's used to. Of course, at this age, he must've been with enough women to understand how she likes to be touched but this is probably as new for him as it is for her, although for different reasons. Besides, she's never been with Russians before. What if it's not just him? What if they're all reserved and strict, and her response to his actions is considered disgusting? The thought of Soviet women never getting wet because they're not allowed to is simultaneously laughable and heartbreaking but before she can show either of the two conflicting emotions on her face Vasily captures her mouth with his. The kiss is slow, torturously so, and almost inquiring, but more passionate than he ever let himself express, and they immediately lose themselves in the sensation. 

His fingers keep moving and curl around her sensitive flesh, toying with her, teasing her the same way she teased him at the board. This isn't revenge exactly; if anything, it's an indication of Beth's victory - her second one for today. He doesn't want her to feel like he's actually trying to teach her a lesson. Yet, he's less cautious with her than usual, less restrained, eager to use what they have left of their time here. There are obvious things he's concerned about: his age, the way he looks and behaves, her own experience with other people and how they compare to him. Maybe it's selfish or too pragmatical to consider these angles in such a moment but he is, after all, just a man and he wants more than anything to please her in a way no one has ever pleased her before. Not for his own ego but for the act of it. He wants to show that he loves every part of her, wants to fill the gaps that others have left behind. And if she thinks she's ready to break another wall between them, well...

Beth whimpers as the cold metal of his watch briefly presses to the burning skin of her inner thigh and parts her shaking legs further, impatient; Vasily interprets it as an invitation to take initiative and crosses the flimsy lacy barrier. Her breath is caught in her throat as his fingers slide across her already hardening clit in smooth and steady strokes. He seems to know what he's doing but she still can't contain the impulse to grab his wrist with one hand, to help him move faster, and put the other on his chest - as if to push him away, even though her hips thrust towards him. She can physically feel his heart beating under her trembling palm and she pulls away temporarily to look at him. The craving written in his eyes is not unlike the one she felt not so long ago, when she was still taking the pills; it's dire but there is also tenderness which makes it so much more complicated, so much harder to let go. If she gets used to him like this, she won't be able to quit. Maybe she doesn't need to, maybe she can finally and fully allow herself to yield. Though addictive, he's not dangerous and he won't destroy her. 

As Vasily carefully pushes his index and middle into her one after the other, Beth gasps like a deprived victorian but her grip around his wrist tightens, urging him to go deeper. She wants him to continue but she also wants him to stop and put his mouth where his hand is. She doesn't know, again, if he's ever stood on his knees before a woman with his face between her legs but she feels by the way he kisses her, by the way he hooks his fingers inside of her, accelerating but never interrupting the play, that he would be good. However, when he ceases on the brink of her epiphany out of the blue, she's instantly annoyed. It takes her a second to see the reason: she's been pushing on his chest too hard and he probably thought she wanted him to stop. Ever the fucking gentleman. In any other place and time she would most likely think it commendable - even if it is the bare minimum - but now, so flustered, so malleable, _so close_ , she can only manage an exasperated huff. Beth quickly considers her options. She could tell him to continue, which would, of course, be the easiest one and the most boring, and she doesn't have the patience for that now. She could also kick him in the crotch but that would make her fall too, now that her knees can barely hold her own weight. 

She actually slaps him this time. Not as loudly and dramatically as she may have hoped but enough to catch him completely off guard for a few seconds. Borgov stands there dumbfounded and furrows his brow, seemingly building up his strategy. Beth is simultaneously lightheaded over the fact that she really, genuinely did it and terrified - not of him but of possibly ruining the moment. 

"I didn't mean to-"

Before she can finish the sentence, Vasily kisses her again but this time he's like a different person, hungry, desperate. He doesn't even try to restrain himself, practically yanking the robe off of her shoulders and hastily undoing her bra. He abandons her lips temporarily and moves to her neck, her collarbones, her breasts, probably leaving ephemeral marks in the process, while his hands glide along her perfect silhouette towards her underwear. Beth doesn't want to be completely useless and helps him with the trousers. There are entirely too many buttons on his shirt, so she quits halfway through, wishing her hands weren't as weak so she could just rip it open. Still, a few undone buttons are enough to feel him up for once. To her great delight, it's not just the suit that makes him look so imposing - he really is quite muscular, though not without a certain softness that comes with age.

"You swim, Mr Borgov?.." She laughs lightly, not actually wanting to poke fun at the fact that he most likely does it for her. He doesn't refute, murmuring something in Russian about having to keep himself in shape against her bare skin. It's like velvet, smooth and tender and yielding, and he wants to stay there forever, to worship her, but he also feels her growing more impatient by the second.

Vasily lifts her up by her hips like she weighs nothing and Beth wraps her legs around his waist in the most elegant lock. Her nails dig into his shoulders when he guides himself inside her and slowly pushes forward. She gasps again, in the sweetest of ways. This time, when he pauses, she's actually grateful as it takes her a moment to get used to the sensation, both because of the long wait and because of the size. It's odd to think about it now but she never expected him to be this big. As she shifts in place a little to accommodate him, she meets Borgov's eyes, fire dancing in them hand in hand with a tinge of anxiousness. A moan stuck in her throat, she leans in to kiss him instead of saying something entirely vulgar. As if they haven't crossed that threshold by now.

The moan comes out when he starts moving, one hand still holding her by the hip and the other wrapped tightly around her waist - gently at first but quickly picking up the pace as they both twirl and sway on the verge of the climax. Breaking the kiss, Beth pulls away slightly to look into his eyes again, to read his mind, to make sure it's not just an instinct for him but a feeling as well, but he doesn't let her move too far away. Her parted lips, weak and still sensitive, barely touch his as he thrusts. She wants to say so many things - serious, genuine things - but they all turn to strangled gasps in her mouth. He knows though, surely, he has to.

Her voice is suddenly clearer when she comes, her hands grasping at his back and shoulders and her legs involuntarily contracting around his waist. Vasily follows close behind - he _is_ older but he'll think about it later, when Beth isn't around - and their mouths are locked again when he carefully pulls away so she doesn't see the mess. It's amusing, really, how often they think about the same things without knowing it.

He carries her to bed, and even though she still feels light in his arms, Borgov is silently grateful for the fact that the way isn't long because _by God_ it's hard to walk. Beth's whole body is limp and her heart is racing, blood rushing to her cheeks and hairline, but she's content. She feels momentarily stupid for saying that thing to Benny that one time - what was it again? - but the feeling of closeness is much bigger, much too important and the moment is too pleasant to spoil it with insignificant regrets. She can say it to him too - when her tongue agrees to cooperate.

It takes Vasily a minute or two to finally come to his senses, sit up and fix his clothes. Despite what's just happened, he's still not entirely certain if she would want him to stay for the night. After all, she only wanted this the whole time she's been trying to seduce him during the tournament, so no matter how much _he_ would like to be with her, _she_ may wish to stay alone. He won't mind either way. Instead of voicing his concerns, however, he just offers her a handkerchief to clean herself up. Beth laughs.

"Oh, wow, what a gentleman." Contrary to the seemingly mocking tone, she takes it and moves closer. A pause. "Did you actually think it was clever?"

"Well..." He shrugs plainly, though a satisfied smile visibly tugs on the corner of his mouth. "It worked."

"You dick." Beth pushes his shoulder, her lips pursed, but there's the same twinkle in her eyes.

They sit in serene, comfortable silence, looking half at each other and half into nothing, but then Vasily puts his hands on his knees and shifts his weight into them, signifying that he wants to stand up and leave. Before he can do that, however, Beth clings to his arm in a kittenish manner.

"And where might you be going at this time of night?" She raises her eyebrows with scepticism. "I didn't say you were dismissed."

This time Vasily genuinely laughs. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you will." His attention now fully on her, Beth crawls into his lap and sits up straight, facing him. His gaze is fixed on her lips once again. "Rematch."


End file.
